Bad Boy, Good Boy (boyxboy)

2 - bad with a flower crown on top

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Chapter 2

11:23 p.m I went to the gas station on foot. The sweet taste of my last cigarette was lingering on my cracked lips.

Sam had insisted that I wear a flower crown as a dare. I looked like a fairy king from a cartoon, but the kind who was living amongst humans and didn't really know why flowers were stuck in his hair.

My leather jacket was dusty from spending too much time in Sam's attic. Even though she insisted she wasn't moving away anytime soon, the urgency to pack came from her parents and her grandparents and even Sam herself.

"I'm not moving until after graduation," she'd told me.

It was still a good three months to that horrendous day, where I might not take part in as a fellow fighter, but instead I might be sitting with all the sobbing parents, popping a cigarette between my teeth and blowing out puffs of smoke right into all of their teary and swollen faces to emphasize their weakness.

I brushed off some of the dust before I walked through the doors. An older man was paying for a bottle of liquor.

"Boys get wasted, men drink" my father had said.

I grabbed a granola bar from a shelf and waited in line until the old guy staggered outside into the dim lights. It was a mess of shadows fighting each other and everything else out there. Like a battlefield where both sides were invisible.

My sneakers squeaked on the tiled floor as I stepped forward and slid the granola bar towards the cashier. I knew him, because he was the father of a girl at school who I had Chemistry with. And before you wonder whether it was more than just the subject connecting us, then might I disappoint you – no chemistry between us. Sam is the only girl I'd sleep with, because she understands.

"And the usual, please," I said as I counted my crumpled dollars.

The cashier laughed and reached for my dear pack of the best and worst fucking cigarettes that I had been craving for since I crushed my last one under my shoe that afternoon. And there was no way I was going home without taking a deep unhealthy breath of the substances that would soothe my mind.

I was a frequent customer and probably in the top ten, only because I had taken all the fight outside, saving the cashier a lot of trouble.

Even though he hadn't thanked me out loud, I knew he was grateful. I could see it in his crooked smile whenever I gave him money.

Think of me as a bug repellent – all the jerks and jocks who stomp inside with the intention to tower above the cashier, to scare him, to steal something because they know the cashier wouldn't resist – well, a lot of them never come back because I give them something to remember.

Let me give you an example. There once lived a guy named Brett Michaels not far off the highway. He marched in with his two a-holes of friends, laughing and mocking. They were wearing red-and-white jackets, a representation of where they came from, which was an earlier football game which they lost, might I add.

So I gave them a token of sorts, each one got something special – Brett ran away with a broken nose, his friend number 1 limped away, and the third peed his pants just a little while wiping snot into his darling jacket. To sum up – the weird bump would always remind Brett that perhaps it would be a better idea to lower his face and keep it that way, friend number 1 would remember the elastic band around his knee, and friend number 2 would hold embarrassment very close to his heart as a reminder to back off before he got involved.

But that night at exactly 11:34 pm I was faced with another problem. Luckily this time Mr. Cashier would be left out of it entirely, and his shop too.

I sat on the packs of coal and ripped the paper of the granola bar. It had been a couple of hours since my last bite, so I savoured the moment I sank my teeth into the honey-covered rectangle of sweetness.

Just as I started to chew, a black car pulled into the gas station parking lot.

(Was it a Volvo or a Mercedes or something else? – I didn't know and I didn't care.)

Two guys exited and as they came closer, shadows fell from their faces and I saw familiar features on both of them.

This time I wouldn't give him any of my cigarettes, no matter how handsome he looked. I would not break. I would not give in.

He was chatting with his friend, smiling a million-dollar smile which could buy me cigarettes for the rest of my life, and suddenly my granola bar tasted like dirt.

As I stared at them, his friend's eyes locked on mine and he furrowed his eyebrows. In that moment I was angry that nature had granted that guy the pure-looking sand-coloured hair that I deserved.

The door closed behind them and I swallowed the last bite of the granola bar.

I stood up and took a deep breath. The air was mixed with the aroma of gas and I felt like I was in heaven.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. Unless it was Sam, I wasn't going to answer.

And it wasn't.

I didn't know anyone who cared enough to dial my number, save for Sam.

Doors were opened and closed, and I felt eyes on my back. The fake leather my jacket was made of was thick enough so it didn't bother me. I glanced over my shoulder and noticed the friend carefully studying me.

I smirked crookedly and pressed 'ignore' on the call. It did bug me a bit that the wrong guy was looking at me, admiring my god-amazing (-awful) style. But I had definitely caught his attention, so much that it was hard for him to tear his eyes off me, when they finally reached their black car.

"What are you doing?" My guy asked, clicking the driver's door open.

With my eyebrow raised, I stared right back at the guy who had too-perfect blond hair.

My guy switched his eyes to where I was and smiled uneasily.

Finally, his friend fully turned his back to me, and my guy relaxed. "For a moment I thought I kn–" he started, but I couldn't hear the rest of it as they climbed inside the car and drove away, the tail lights like two beacons in the dark forest right from where I stood.

By the time I reached my house, I had burned through a cigarette. I climbed the tree instead of using the front door and possibly waking up my father. One could call it a late night workout. I bet my muscles were thankful, as well as my future lover would be. Who wouldn't appreciate ripped abs.

The window was open, so I pushed it all the way up and climbed in.

Dad had always hated that tree, because it was a possible threat to the whole house. That's when the Greenpeace side of me had kicked out and I had stood in his way as he had grabbed the motor saw.

"The tree stays!" Even though mom hadn't.